long night at sea had interfered with their appetites. In fact, each of
them remarked to the others that it had not, so far as he was concerned.

"We'll make a good run," said Dab. "It'll be great!"

"What?" said Ford, in some astonishment; "ain't you going to New York at
all?"

"What for?"

"I thought that was what you meant to do. Shall you sail right straight
home?"

"Why not? If we could do that distance at night, and in a storm, I guess
we can in a day of such splendid weather as this, with the wind just
right too."

CHAPTER XIII

"HOME AGAIN! HERE WE ARE!"

The wind was indeed "just right;" but even Dab forgot, for the moment,
that "The Swallow" would go faster and farther before a gale than she
was likely to with the comparatively mild southerly breeze now blowing.
He was by no means likely to get home by dinner-time. As for danger,
there would be absolutely none, unless the weather should again become
stormy; and there was no probability of any such thing at that season.
And so, after he had eaten his breakfast, and, with a genuine boy's
confidence in boys, Frank Harley came on board "The Swallow" as a
passenger, the anchor was lifted, and the gay little craft spread her
white sails, and slipped lightly away from the neighborhood of the
forlorn-looking, stranded steamer.

"They'll have her out of that in less'n a week," said Ford to Frank. "My
father'll know just what to do about your baggage, and so forth."

There were endless questions to be asked and answered on both sides; but
at last Dab yawned a very sleepy yawn, and said, "Ford, you've had your
nap. Wake up Dick, there, and let him take his turn at the tiller. The
sea's as smooth as a lake, and I believe I'll go to sleep for an hour or
so. You and Frank can keep watch while Dick steers: he's a good
steerer."

Whatever Dab said was "orders" now on board "The Swallow;" and Ford's
only reply was,--

"If you haven't earned a good nap, then nobody has."

Dick, too, responded promptly and cheerfully; and in five minutes more
the patient and skilful young "captain" was sleeping like a top.

"Look at him," said Ford Foster to Frank Harley. "I don't know what he's
made of. He's been at that tiller for twenty-three hours by the watch,
in all sorts of weather, and never budged."

"They don't make that kind of boy in India," replied Frank.

"He's de bes' feller you ebber seen," added Dick Lee. "I's jes' proud ob
him, I is!"

Smoothly